It Takes Two
by Ink Cat
Summary: A bored sex crimes detective is forced to attend the Manhattan Law Enforcement Gala, but finds that maybe the evening won't be as dull as expected. AJ. Rated T, just to be safe, and for some language.
1. I Want to Save All my Nights

Title: It Takes Two  
Author: Ink Cat  
Rating: T, for language, but it's not too bad at all.  
Summary: A bored sex crimes detective is forced to attend the Manhattan Law-Enforcement Gala, but finds that maybe the evening won't be as dull as expected. AJ.  
Author's Notes: Yes, the Gala is made up, and yes, I will be continuing and yes, I understand that it is somewhat OOC for Alex and John to know how to dance so well. Honestly, I don't really care, and neither, I expect, do you! This was originally supposed to be a long one-shot, but I think my brother fed it toxic waste while I wasn't looking and it morphed into this massive creature-thing. I've decided to split it up for your convenience. I hadn't finished the end, but I decided to just post it since it irritated the heck out of me just living in my Fanfiction folder. Except now I've decided to end it differently and stretch it out and it's turning out to be more effort than was planned... Anyway, review (please, please) and enjoy. Please forgive any incorrect spacing in the above section and throughout the fic, if you find any. I've changed it a million times and it still won't stick... Grr.  
Disclaimer: I don't own SVU. -sob-

It was going to be one hell of an evening.

Munch entered the large room reluctantly, trailing behind the other detectives. Elliot had an arm around Kathy's waist. She looked good, Munch thought, for someone who had had four children. Olivia had a hand on her date's shoulder and was tilting her head towards him to catch some murmured remark. She glanced back at John, then at her date again. She asked her date something (he didn't catch what, exactly) and looked away in dismissal at his answer. _Screw you too, jackass_, thought the already irritated detective, I _don't like you either_. He was some hotshot photographer out of Seattle . John knew that Olivia wouldn't keep him around much longer. Munch had caught the hard glint in her eye when her date had as much as said (buried under niceties and euphemisms) that a woman's place was in the kitchen, not on the streets. Munch knew that he'd be out like tomorrow morning's trash, but for now Olivia needed him, for aesthetic purposes at least.

He groaned inwardly as he saw all of the people that he would have to socialize with. It was, unfortunately for the uneager John, the annual Manhattan Law-Enforcement Gala. Every officer, prosecutor, and criminalist from the area was there. John's worst nightmare, but the highlight of some peoples' social lives. Needless to say, Munch did _not_ enjoy mixing and mingling, and he wasn't much fonder of asinine small talk.

At least they were seated by squad. A small blessing, but beggars couldn't be choosers. He took a seat at their table. It was a little one, but near two the open terrace where many of the guests milled. He saw Doctor Warner a little ways away, husband in tow. Even Huang had a date, a thin Asian woman with high cheekbones, horn-rimmed glasses, and piercingly sultry eyes. _How in the hell…?_ John wondered, and then reconsidered. The man _was_ a psychiatrist. He probably knew all the right things to say. Munch smirked inwardly. He had never really thought of the doctor as a ladies man.

The others had dispersed. Olivia and her date (_What was his name? Michael Filter? No, Michael Philips_) were making polite conversation with Benny Randall from the two-three, and he spotted Elliot and Kathy sitting at the bar near Morales, the CSU tech. He was looking a bit worse for wear, and a little sloshed already; his eyes had a hint of a glassy sheen, his tie was loosened and he was hiccupping softly. Cragen was with a group of his old friends, trying to dissuade one of the ladies who seemed _very_ intent on pulling him out toabench.He wished the Captain luck with that; as it was, he would still probably enjoy himself more than John would. Fin was nowhere to be seen. He had _told_ his partner that there would be hell to pay if he didn't show, but that was Fin for you. Munch envied his blatant disregard for internal politics, but didn't dare try to replicate it. Fin could always get out of tight spaces, whereas experience had shown Munch that he was more likely to be squished like a bug.

The mayor called everyone back to their seats, talked about how important they all were to keeping the city safe, yada, yada, yada. _If you really cared about keeping the city safe, you wouldn't have called us all here_, John thought. New Yorkers knew that the night of the Gala was the single most dangerous night of the year (with Halloween second, for obvious reasons). Every aspiring criminal learned early: all cops (except for the minimum number that could possibly be on duty; the working officers list was changed every year) would be busy finessing the boss, a.k.a. kissing ass. The perfect time to commit crimes, with the NYPD understaffed and overrun.

But for now, John was trying to concentrate just on surviving. He saw the looks that he was getting from the others. Poor John, no date, he must be so embarrassed. No, he wasn't embarrassed, though he _was_ considering following Morales's lead and getting completely foxed. The mayor stepped down, to polite applause by most, loud applause by a few, and no applause by even less. Ever _smart_ cop knew that it was career suicide to get on the wrong side of the head honchos. Then again, mused John, there were more than a few police officers on the force who were a few fries short of a happy meal.

As his remaining tablemates chatted about the weather (What was up with that rain yesterday?) and other painfully casual topics (So how old were the Stabler children, exactly?). John examined the other tables, noting familiar faces. The chatter of voices around him merged into a hum. Munch studied the rise and fall of noise, head panning slowly from side to side as he did so. Everything seemed pretty normal, and despite the fact that they were all dressed in formal wear, they still all looked like cops, like lawyers, like scientists.

_Except for maybe her_. John studied the woman at the other side of the hall. While everyone else was sitting and making small talk she was standing, looking around as if searching for someone. She was lovely, tall and thin with ivory skin and the grace of a dancer. Her face was turned away, though the detective noted the ash blonde hair twisted into an intricate knot atop the woman's head and secured with a pair of black hair combs. There were gardenias in her hair too; the pale flowers nestled atop the crown of her head. Her dress was beautiful in its simplicity. A fitted bodice gave way to a loose, straight skirt that accented the long lines of her body. The black silk was smooth and elegant and had touches of lace at the neckline and waist. There was a thin silver chain around her neck, so fine as to look almost like thread, with a single tiny teardrop-shaped diamond resting between her collarbones.

She was probably some rich socialite's young trophy wife, he decided. But then she turned. A shock ran through the detective. He recognized those high cheekbones, the thin nose, the ice-blue eyes. It was Alexandra Cabot, ADA .

A/N: -exaggerated voice- What will Alex do? Will John survive the evening? And why in the hell is Petrovsky wearing that horrible dress? Find out next time on 'It Takes Two' -snickers- Don't you hate it when people end chapters like that? Anyway, please review. Next chapter is actually DONE (-gasp-). But I'll let you suffer a while... lol. No, really, I'm building theatric suspense! I'll only wait a day or so, though, most likely. If you review I might post sooner... hint, hint.


	2. Some Like to Live for the Moment

Title: It Takes Two  
Author: Ink Cat  
Rated: T  
Author's Notes: Wow, look! Another chapter! I'll have you all know that this is the first time that I've actually posted another chapter to an exsisting story. I'll really have to do something about my urge to start stories and not finish or update. Anyway, chapter two is up. Thanks to all of my wonderful reviewers. Special shoutouts go to Caro for being frank about the absolute cliche in the ending and to LS Munch and SVU My Life for advice and support. To the rest of you, I tried to make this ending much less stale than the other one, though I'm pretty sure Alex's line about waltzing will go down a little stickily. Sorry about that.  
Disclaimer: I don't own Law and Order SVU. Damn. 

Alex's eyes met his, and she began the long walk across the ballroom towards their table. John pretended to be very interested in his untouched champagne flute. _One bubble, two bubble, three bubble…_ He knew that most people were gained a certain measure of discomfort when he made eye contact, but he was the one inwardly cringing now. He really, _really _hoped that she hadn't caught him inspecting her. That would just be too awkward, even for him.

She was met by waves, compliments, and, from the more reserved table occupants (read: John and Doctor Huang) polite nods and 'good evenings'. Introductions were made to those who weren't acquainted with the Assistant District Attorney. Huang's date (Mae Lin, we had learned) inspected Alex's dress and her silent approval was obvious. It seemed that the somewhat bafflingly seductive woman was an up-and-coming designer herself.

John could tell that Kathy was a little jealous of the elegantly dressed Cabot. He also caught Michael ogling her. He was pretty sure that Alex and Olivia did too, judging bythe carefully schooled blankness of their faces when they spoke to him.

She took a seat next to Mae Lin and the two easily fell into conversation about Mae's fledgling clothing line, Harajuku Kiss; far too bright and funky for the reserved Cabot, but good conversation all the same. Olivia and Michael headed towards the exit (Munch had a feeling that Mikey-boy was about to be kicked to the curb, literally _and_ figuratively). Elliot and Kathy drifted towards the gardens, presumably to spend what little time they did have together alone, for which he couldn't fault them. Mae Ling went to speak with one of the lab technicians about the skirt that she was wearing. "It's far too Laura Ashley for her," she had said before charging off to lend advice to the fashionably challenged. John thought that she was funny, her energy reminiscent of a four year old who had had a few too many jellybeans on Easter.

They passed the time well enough, Huang, Cragen, Cabot, and Munch arguing amicably on the subject of juvenile rehabilitation, until Alex's boss approached them. "Oh, this doesn't bode well for me," she mumbled before turning to face her boss with a false smile.

She headed for them like a hurricane, like a battleship (albeit one decked out in watermelon pink). "Hello, Alex." She nodded, "Detectives. Doctor."

"Liz." Alex allowed, wary.

The men attempted to carry on a conversation, trying not to eavesdrop _too _much, or to at least not be noticed doing so. "Alex, you _do_ know what the point of these yearly gatherings are, don't you?"

"To force already overworked citizens to put up with each other for yet another evening over hors d'oeuvres and champagne in order to see who cracks first?" she asked with a sickly-sweet smile. Major points for her on that one, thought Munch as he tried to talk with his male colleagues about a recent case while still listening in on the two women's conversation. It was proving rather difficult, and he could tell that the others finding it just as hard from the frequent 'what?'s and 'huh?'s.

"No, though I don't doubt that that's on of the underlying reasons." She fixed Alex with a serious look. "It's a time to show all of the big cheeses that you have a life outside of the job."

"But Liz, I _don't_-"

Liz cut her off. "I know, and if it were my choice I'd be happy to let you sit here and talk shop, but I'm telling you, colleague to colleague, that it's in your best interest to socialize some."

Alex sighed. "Liz…"

"I know, Alex, you'd rather be at the office doing something 'productive', but this is life, counselor. Get used to it."

Alex watched her walk quickly away. Cragen, Munch and Huang abandoned their conversation. "Ouch," said Cragen, glancing at Liz's retreating back.

"It makes sense, though," Huang said. "People who don't mix outside of their usual group could be perceived to be too work-oriented or possibly even antisocial. This is probably the management's way of weeding out the officers who are most likely to become too focused on their jobs."

Munch rolled his eyes. "Thank you for that assessment, _Doctor_"

He smiled, taking John's gentle prod gracefully. "Any time, detective."

The orchestra had begun to tune their instruments and people began moving off of the open space obviously meant as a dance floor. The detectives watched from the sidelines as Olivia reentered the room (alone, as Munch had suspected she would) and headed for the bar in the far corner, striking up a conversation with another detective. _One thing that I have to give Liv, she sure doesn't waste time_, John thought, catching the flirtatious smiles that the two threw each others' way. Elliot and Kathy danced the first song. The assembled SVU members tried not to laugh at the detective's shoddy footwork. He and Kathy sat down near the sidelines, she rubbing her feet and he looking sheepish. Alex caught Liz gesturing at her to dance, but ignored her boss. After a few songs, however, the orchestra began to play Offenbach's Barcarole. Alex glanced at her tablemates.

"I don't suppose any of you gentlemen know how to waltz?"

"Mae Lin wouldn't like it," said Huang with a small smile. He glanced at his date a few tables away. She was informing a young officer that his red tie really wasn't playing well against his ruddy complexion.

Alex's gaze shifted to Cragen, sitting beside Huang. "Don't look at me," he said when he realized that she was, indeed, looking at him. "I'm almost worse than Elliot."

_Maybe if I don't say anything she'll assume that I don't…_ Munch thought. He didn't want to outright lie to Alex. Rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably, he (once again) concentrated on his untouched champagne flute. _Such a pretty yellow color…_

"John?" Alex asked.

He sighed, but Alex smiled. "Do you want to dance?" she asked, taking his sigh for the 'yes' that it was to her first question.

Did he want to? Hell yes he wanted to, if it would let him get close enough to her to touch her pale cheek, to hear the rustle of her silk gown when she moved. But, of course, playing eager wasn't John's game. "And make a fool of myself in front of the NYPD, FBI, CIA, and God knows who else? No thanks."

"Oh, come on, John. We can go out on the terrace. No one'll see you, though you _do_ run the risk of being photographed by a rogue Government satellite," she finished with a little smile.

He sighed again, but let himself be pulled to his feet. "Lead the way, counselor," he said resignedly, and Alex pulled him off, prompting bemused expressions from the rest of the SVU squad.


End file.
